


Hold Back The Rain

by nantdisglair



Category: Onmyouji | The Yin-Yang Master (Movies)
Genre: Case Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 09:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27468967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nantdisglair/pseuds/nantdisglair
Summary: It hasn't rained for almost two months. Seimei and Hiromasa are about to find out why.
Relationships: Abe no Seimei/Minamoto no Hiromasa
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	Hold Back The Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Сдержи дождь](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29091747) by [Higitsune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Higitsune/pseuds/Higitsune), [WTF Box of Chocolates 2021 (Box_of_Chocolates)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Box_of_Chocolates/pseuds/WTF%20Box%20of%20Chocolates%202021)



> Written for Spook Me 2020; the prompt was ‘demon’.
> 
> For Honocho and Northern Fox, in thanks for their work in translating my Onmyouji fics into Russian and for illustrating them so beautifully.

The Seventh Month had passed without rain, and as the Eighth Month reached its midpoint without any sign of clouds on the horizon, people started to mutter about a curse. Offerings piled up at the temples and shrines, and the Emperor ordered the Bureau of Divination to bend all its skills towards a solution.

The flow of the Kamo River dwindled until it became the norm to see commoners and wading birds alike picking through the mudflats in search of sustenance. The Katsura River, meanwhile, became blocked when part of the city wall collapsed into it, forcing the water to seek a different route. The south-west quarter became even more insalubrious, with curtains of buzzing insects and stinking marsh-gases blotting the atmosphere.

No such troubles blighted Seimei’s garden. Apart from the palace, it was the only place in the capital that seemed untouched by the drought.

Hiromasa was proud of his own garden, a beautiful, tranquil space modelled after the Chinese fashion, the product of many decades of devoted work by his maternal grandfather and his grandfather’s grandfather before him. But even his collection of mosses and ornamental grasses, flowering shrubs and landscaped lawns, had turned an unappealing yellowish-brown as the summer wore on without the relief of even a drop of rain.

Seimei’s garden, by contrast, was a lush paradise, with so many shades of green that Hiromasa couldn’t number them all. Fragrant herbs and flowers turned their faces to the sun and stretched their roots deep into the moist, loamy earth. Grasses grew tall and whispered as a warm breeze stirred through them. And the fruit trees—why, they were magnificent.

Hiromasa hummed a tune as he wandered through the orchard, ducking beneath bunches of grapes and stepping clear of the meandering vines of the huge, sprawling gourd plant. He turned back his patterned silk sleeves and stood beneath the spread of a plum tree, gazing upon the ripe fruit with pleasure.

Elsewhere in the city, the plums had either wizened on the branch or had grown over-ripe and burst open. It could be dangerous to walk without due care beneath the plum trees in the Divine Spring Gardens, for fear of treading in the sticky flesh of rotting fruit. Wasps and ants swarmed about the mess, gorging themselves drunkenly, and many of the good people had suffered stings and bites, or had been unfortunate enough to have their favourite summer garments ruined by unsightly stains.

Here in Seimei’s garden, though, the plums were perfect. Hiromasa reached up to pick one and bit into the yielding flesh. The tart-sweet flavour exploded on his tongue, the juice running down his chin and over his hand.

Mitsumushi, resting on Hiromasa’s hat in her butterfly form, launched herself into the air and flittered about the plums as if she wanted to taste them, too. He plucked a burnished purple fruit and, with his belt-knife, cut it into two and held it out. The beautiful orange and blue butterfly winged gracefully down onto his outstretched fingers and probed at the deep yellow plum flesh.

Pleased that she was enjoying the treat, Hiromasa carried her with him through the winding paths of the garden. He placed the halved plum on a flat stone and encouraged Mitsumushi to crawl from his hand to continue her feast.

“Hiromasa is sticky,” he told her, although he had no idea whether the spirit-girl could understand him while she resided in her butterfly form. Waving her goodbye, he headed first for the pond, where he crouched and dabbled his hands in the water—quickly, though, for one never knew what kind of creatures lurked there in the depths—before making his way back to the house.

A cricket rasped from somewhere in the tall grass. It was the only sound but for the occasional delicate, muted music of the wind chimes. Away from the garden, the heat felt more intense, the sun’s glare harsher. The view of the distant mountains he usually enjoyed from the veranda had been obliterated by the haze.

Moving the lattice aside, he slipped into the comparative cool of the house’s interior. The blinds had been lowered against the throbbing heat, and Seimei had rigged some kind of spinning contraption that ensured the constant movement of air about the room. The atmosphere was still warm, but it was less stifling, and Hiromasa took off his hat to enjoy the breeze over his head.

Seimei lounged on a mat, his unlined summer robes giving glimpses of pale skin whenever he moved. Several pieces of correspondence surrounded him, and at his elbow was a Chinese almanac that looked to be of considerable antiquity. Various other objects lay nearby: a folded fan, a dish of fermented vegetables, almost picked clean, an armillary sphere, and a pair of compasses on top of a scrap of paper, upon which were jotted various calculations.

He was still in the same delicious state of dishabille in which Hiromasa had left him an hour or so ago; the only difference was that Seimei had tied up his hair in a lazy topknot. Loose strands clung to his neck; a sheen of perspiration licked his nape.

Hiromasa stared, swallowed, and sat down, reaching for the jar of wine. He was suddenly very parched.

“Pour me a drop, would you, Hiromasa?” Seimei was reading a letter that seemed to be annoying him. He made a disgruntled sound and, lifting the blinds closest to him, batted the letter beneath the gap so it shot across the veranda and disappeared into the undergrowth.

Another letter appeared in mid-air, twirled once, then fluttered down onto Seimei’s mat.

Startled, Hiromasa spilled some of the wine. “Ah,” he said, gesturing with the dripping cup, “it seems that someone wants your attention.”

“My cousin Koshi.” Looking irritable, Seimei sat up and accepted the drink. He wiped the cup on his soft cream under-robe without managing to stain the fabric and took a long swallow of wine. “A distant cousin, you understand, but a relative all the same.”

“What manner of person is she?” Hiromasa asked, trying to be delicate.

Grasping his meaning immediately, Seimei threw him an amused look. “She belongs to my mother’s side of the family.”

“Oh. So your cousin…”

“Is a fox. Quite.” Seimei read the second letter, then folded it into smaller and smaller squares. He whispered a word over it, and the message vanished in a sprinkling of silvery dust.

As soon as the sparkles settled, another letter appeared in midair. This time, it landed on Seimei’s sleeves.

“She is quite insistent,” Hiromasa observed, inching his cloak away from the magical missive.

“She wishes to invite me to her wedding.” With a long-suffering sigh, Seimei opened the letter and scanned its contents. His eyebrows rose in perfect arches. “Ah, this is new.” He turned the page so Hiromasa could see it. “Koshi has invited you, too.”

“Me?” Hiromasa peered at the rather slapdash calligraphy, attempting to tease meaning from the characters. Then he realised it must be written in the fox tongue, for it resembled leaves and twigs and brambles. The only symbols he recognised were the three that made up his own name.

He didn’t know whether to be pleased or afraid. “I’ve never attended a fox wedding before. Should I bring a gift? What would be pleasing to a fox couple? That is to say, _is_ your cousin marrying another fox, or a human?”

“I didn’t think to ask.” Seimei flung the invitation aside.

A fourth message dropped into his lap.

Expressionless, Seimei opened it. “Her groom is also a fox, from a venerable old family in Hyuga.” He snorted, still perusing the letter. “Personally I think she could have done better. Uchinori, her intended, is painfully pompous and self-important, but on the other hand, he _is_ tremendously good-looking…”

Hiromasa prickled. “You know him?”

“We’ve met once or twice. The last time being at the Kitbitsuhiko shrine in Bizen.” Reclining on one arm, Seimei set the letter down carefully and picked up his fan. It was bright orange, with a pair of swallows in flight painted in white and blue. His mouth curling in reminiscence, he said, “Uchinori challenged me to a matching contest—which of us could conjure the best water-dragon. You’ll recall the charming creature from Suzhou who resided for a while in your garden pond? I called upon her to make an appearance and won quite a convincing victory.”

“Surely that’s cheating!”

“Not at all. Merely the application of common sense, which I fear Uchinori lacks. Never mind, Koshi will run rings around him, and he is _exceedingly_ handsome, so I suppose I can see why she wants to marry him…” Breaking off, Seimei studied Hiromasa over the top of the fan, his eyes bright. “Would you like to come to the wedding?”

“It would certainly be interesting.” That was the diplomatic answer, Hiromasa decided; he was not at all certain it would be a good idea. “But there might be a directional taboo that day. Or I might have to wash my hair.”

Seimei’s gaze lowered and he hid his laughter. “Well, you have a week to decide. And don’t worry about taboos; I can arrange for protections to be worked for you.”

“Thank you. I’ll consider it.” Hiromasa took a sip of wine to fortify himself. “But, if I may remark upon it, Seimei, you don’t seem particularly eager to go yourself.”

“My family are somewhat… boisterous. Also—” Another missive materialised out of nowhere and arrowed towards him at speed. Seimei snatched it out of the air, silk sleeves flying, and crumpled it to the floor without reading it.

“Also,” he continued, settling back down, “the invitation comes with strings attached. The gift Koshi and her groom require of me is simple, yet impossible.”

Hiromasa stared over the rim of his wine-cup. “What is it?”

“They want me to make it rain.”

*

It was but a short distance from Seimei’s house on Tsuchimidako Avenue to the palace’s Joto Gate, but even that seemed too far. Hiromasa wilted under the hammer-blow of the sun, trying to keep his pace as steady and indolent as possible to avoid heatstroke. He slid from one small patch of shadow to the next, but even the willow trees planted along the avenue offered little in the way of protection. The leaves were brown and crisp, and the branches rustled in the slightest breath of wind, sounding like the hissing of monstrous snakes.

Seimei, of course, strode boldly down the centre of the road as he always did. There was no traffic abroad to move out of his way, and though a thick, grey-brown dust puffed up in his footsteps, none of it adhered to the snow-white train of his hunting costume.

The dust rose around Hiromasa’s shambling steps, too, and made him cough. He wiped at his face, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the mixture of sweat and grime that came away on his sleeve. At least he didn’t suffer alone: as they crossed Horikawa Street he saw litter-bearers sweating through their garments and heard the mournful lowing of a pair of oxen pulling a carriage. A lady’s gaily-coloured sleeves hung limply from the interior of the ox-cart.

At this time of year, the good people usually removed to the more pleasant climes of Lake Biwa, but all those who had travelled that distance had returned with terrible tales of stranded fish and algae, muddied water and scorched landscapes.

“It would be a very great achievement if you could make it rain,” Hiromasa said, abandoning his futile search for shadow and walking alongside his friend. Surely, if Seimei could make the rain fall, he’d have done so by now. It followed, therefore, that here was a skill beyond even Seimei’s capability. Unless, of course, Seimei didn’t want it to rain; but why would he wish that?

Hiromasa frowned. “Seimei, _can_ you make it rain?”

“I can summon a quantity of water from one place and cause it to shower over another,” Seimei said, stirring his fan back and forth to direct a cooling breeze over their faces. “That is why my garden remains in good condition. But the quantities I use are very small, and taken from the springs that rise deep underground. What would be required to bring such a false rain to the capital, to the whole region… I’m afraid that would take a skill far beyond my meagre ability.”

That didn’t seem right. Hiromasa considered. “What if you got together with your colleagues and combined your spells?”

Seimei gave him a patient look. “Unfortunately, even if they were all capable of casting those kinds of spells, it would be to no avail. The kind of magic necessary to achieve that outcome can only be handled by a god.”

“Oh.” Hiromasa wiped sweat from the back of his neck. Even the simple action of thinking was exhausting in this heat. “Could you make your false rain for your cousin’s wedding?”

“I could, but that would be bad luck.”

They paused at the junction with Shigasho Omiya Avenue, the red walls of the palace complex before them. Seimei led the way towards the Joto Gate, where a pair of guards stood in a scrap of shadow and stared mutely out at the sun-bleached world.

“For a fox wedding to be deemed acceptable, there must be equal parts sunshine and rainfall,” Seimei explained. “It’s perfectly permissible to propitiate the gods and spirits who have charge over the sun and the rain, but neither state should be induced by magic. That’s why so many marriages take place over the summer months, when one can rely upon the fruit-ripening rains.”

“Except for this year,” Hiromasa said.

“Mm.” Seimei closed his fan with a snap and slid it inside his cloak. “When Koshi started badgering me about her wedding, I began a few discreet enquiries into the whereabouts of the Amefuri Kozo…”

“The rainfall spirit?” Hiromasa smiled at the thought of it. A popular image on paintings, and with more than one tavern named after him, the Amefuri Kozo took the form of a young boy in blue priestly garb and wooden clogs, sometimes with a peasant’s straw hat on his head to keep off the rain he’d caused, and other times twirling an umbrella and dancing through the puddles.

“I’ve been looking for him for several weeks now,” Seimei continued. “I began to suspect there was something amiss last month when the rains didn’t arrive in their usual timely fashion, but I wanted to consult every almanac I could lay my hands on, for some are open to interpretation. I finished studying the last of them this morning, and all are unequivocal. A drought has not been predicted for this year, which means something is interfering with the natural order of things.”

“Something?” Hiromasa shivered despite the heat. “You mean a demon?”

“That could be one of many possibilities,” Seimei said vaguely, but would not be drawn any further.

The guards drew to attention as they passed beneath the gate. Hiromasa returned their salute, then dawdled on the white-gravelled avenue. “Where are you going, Seimei? Shall we meet for the afternoon rice or do you have other plans?”

“Lady Fuze at the Bureau of the Wardrobe requested my assistance with a personal matter,” Seimei said. “Something about her younger half-brother apparently having an aptitude for seeing spirits. But yes, by all means let us meet later.”

“I’m going to check in with my colleagues at the Guards Office,” Hiromasa said, gesturing at the building in front of him, “and then I’m joining some friends for a songbird contest.”

“I’m sure you will enjoy yourself,” Seimei murmured.

“I believe I shall,” Hiromasa said, his thoughts straying elsewhere. “Seimei, would a pair of songbirds be an appropriate gift for a fox wedding?”

Seimei looked at him with an expression of comical disbelief. “As a snack?”

Hiromasa gave up.

*

The atmosphere in the Crown Prince’s Household was stifling. Hiromasa had positioned himself against a pillar close to the window lattices, so he could take advantage of any breeze that might blow. Sunlight glanced through the blinds in stripes, and the optical effect, combined with the sultry warmth and the fug of sweat and perfumes, soon had Hiromasa drifting towards sleep.

He tried to stay awake and attentive, but after the first few rounds of the contest his attention wandered. The finches all sang beautifully, liquid melodies and charming trills that on any other occasion would have delighted him, but today he sat, prickling with heat, aware of the chafing of the ribbon of his court cap beneath his chin, and let his mind slip back to Seimei’s garden.

His eyes closed. He imagined walking the shady paths and hearing the music of a trickling waterfall. He imagined casting off his court robes and wandering about clad in only a few layers of unlined robes. Seimei would be there, too, of course: barefoot on the grass, ink-black hair loose over his shoulders, his garments as insubstantial as clouds.

And then it would rain, tentative spots at first, plinking onto the surface of the pond, splatting onto the ornamental rocks. He would take shelter beneath a plum tree, laughing as he turned his head up to the sky to see great black swells of cloud. And then the rain would fall in earnest, and Seimei would dance beneath the downpour, his robes wet and clinging, raindrops glistening in silver streams over his hair, and Hiromasa would go to him, wet through himself, and—

A shriek jerked him from his doze.

Hiromasa snapped his head up, blinking and looking around. The other guests at the contest were rising from their places, confusion and fear on their faces. More screams rang out, and from beyond the lattices came the sound of running feet along wooden walkways and across gravel.

Awake now, alert to potential danger, Hiromasa stood and pushed aside the lattice. The scene before him was chaotic: aristocrats and servants running back and forth in alarm; guards converging from every quarter of the palace, forming up to do battle against the threat; the imperial cats dashing about yowling, tails up in offence and their fur soaking wet.

How had the Empress’s cats got wet?

Abandoning the contest, Hiromasa went down into the courtyard and grabbed the arm of a panicking servant. The man’s sleeve was wet, sopping with water. “What’s happened?”

The servant stared at him with wild eyes. “It’s raining, my lord.”

Hiromasa cocked his head. The sky was still a hazy blue, the sun still a white blister of heat. “Raining?”

“Inside, my lord.” Terror twisted the servant’s face. “It’s raining _inside_.” He pointed with a trembling finger. “It’s raining inside the apartments of Her Majesty’s Household!”

Gathering up his robes, Hiromasa sprinted across the expanse of white gravel towards the building that accommodated the Empress’s ladies. Already a crowd was gathering outside. Knots of bedraggled women clung together, sobbing in fright. Water slopped over the veranda and dripped onto the gravel. Puddles formed at the feet of the clustering ladies. Make-up had smeared, hair had frizzed, costly silks were ruined.

Servants from neighbouring pavilions ran to assist, offering bathing sheets and dry robes. Several less gentlemanly men stood around leering at the unfortunate ladies in their drenched gowns. More venerable and pious types, drawn by the noise, declared themselves scandalised by the sight of female bodies revealed by wet garments.

As Hiromasa watched, a woman in the robes of a lady chamberlain staggered out, her gowns so heavy with water she could barely stand upright. She fell against a column holding up the veranda roof, leaving a wet blot against the red paint. Sinking to her knees, her hair awash and weighing her down, she struggled to lift her head.

“The Empress!” she cried. “The Empress is still inside!”

Half a dozen guardsmen sprang forwards, tangling up in one another’s weapons as they tried to race to the rescue. Hiromasa was faster, and unencumbered. He called to a couple of maidservants, instructing them to help the lady chamberlain to safety, then he hurled himself up the steps, feet slipping in the tide of water sloshing out of the building, and ran indoors.

The manservant was right. It was raining inside.

Clouds swirled and billowed about the ceiling. It was dark, the air heavy with the scent and taste of rain and wet wood. Water—refreshing at first, but soon cold enough to burrow to the bone—fell from the thickening grey and black mists. Hiromasa took two steps into the apartments and was drenched, rain soaking through his garments to the skin, rain running down his face, rain making everything cold and miserable.

“Ah, Hiromasa. There you are.” Seimei waded towards him. The wet silk of the hunting costume wrapped about his legs, forcing him to take small steps. Supported on his arm was Her Majesty the Empress, her teeth gritted and her chin up as the rain continued to pour down on them.

“Assist Her Majesty,” Seimei said. “There’s one more person left inside.”

Torn between bowing as etiquette demanded and helping the Empress to safety, Hiromasa settled on doing both at the same time. Bobbing his head, he wrapped an arm about Her Majesty’s waist and lifted her feet free of the rising tide. She gave a muffled scream and clung to him, almost dislodging his court cap. It was knocked askew, the wet ribbon tight across his throat. Ignoring the discomfort, he carried the Empress onto the veranda and handed her to the circle of ladies waiting to tend to her.

A wave of rainwater rolled out in his wake, pulled from the apartments by Her Majesty’s trailing layers of silk, damask, and brocade. Water poured from the veranda and sank into the gravel, no longer white but churned brown with mud. The guardsmen, helpless against rainfall, squelched about trying to restore order, and the leering lords now complained that their garments were spattered with muck, and two of them had even slipped in the mud and injured various parts of their persons.

Content that the Empress was being cared for, Hiromasa adjusted his court hat and went back inside in search of Seimei. Although it continued to flow out through the windows and doors, the water-level had risen even higher. Hiromasa waded deeper into the apartments, this time taking in the utter devastation wrought by the rain and the flood.

Standing curtains had been knocked down and floated alongside private papers, the writing now blurred or washed away. Paintings had been torn from the walls, and carved screens and bedding lay heaped like pebbles placed by the current of a stream. Incense balls crumbled in braziers filled with water. Clothes chests had been flung open, their contents ruined. A waxed paper umbrella floated past upside down.

Hiromasa turned to follow its route, then he sloshed through the deepening water—it was up to his knees now, and his feet felt like ice—until at last he found Seimei.

His companion stood motionless, a tide of wet creeping up his silks. The storm had knocked off Seimei’s court cap and rain dewed his hair, dragging strands loose to lie sleek against his neck.

“Seimei,” Hiromasa said, pitching his voice so he could be heard over the downpour. “Is this the work of the Amefuri Kozo?”

“I believe so.”

“Why here? Why indoors?”

Seimei lifted an arm, the sleeve heavy with water, and pointed to an interior room, the kind of space a noble lady would use as a retreat or private chamber. The door was protected by spells, and though the rain battered against the walls and slapped at the door, though water soaked into the paper and made the ink run, the spells held firm.

“The Amefuri Kozo wants to see her,” Seimei said.

“Her?” Hiromasa wiped streams of water from his face. “Who is she? What does he want with her?”

Seimei slanted him a bright-eyed look. “Let’s find out.”

He splashed through the swirling currents and ripped down the spells, chanting to counter the power of each one. He tore them all away and scattered them into the water, his hands blotched with ink, and then he slid open the door.

The rain stopped.

Hiromasa stared into the inner chamber. It was dry, its furnishings untouched. A brazier gave off light and heat, and a delicate springtime scent hung in the air. Surrounded by paper and writing implements, bedding and clothes, a young girl of about eleven or twelve knelt upon a mat. She clutched an unopened fan in one hand, and with the other had pleated the sleeves of her pretty pink and green silks. She turned her face up to greet her visitors, her startled gaze taking in Seimei, then Hiromasa—and then she looked past them.

Joy blazed through her. She leapt up, dropping the fan and almost tripping over her fine robes in her haste. “Susumu! Oh, Susumu, it’s you! You’re _here_!”

She ran towards them and would have pushed past if Hiromasa and Seimei had not stepped out of her path. Careless of the standing water and the dripping beams, she hurtled across the waterlogged hall and threw herself into the arms of a boy who stood there, silent and smiling.

Bemused, Hiromasa stared at the lad. It was hard to guess his age, for one moment he seemed to be no more than fourteen, gangly and awkward and blushing with pleasure at receiving the attention of a pretty girl, and the next moment his youthful features seemed ageless.

Susumu, the girl had called him. Hiromasa ran the name through his memory. He couldn’t claim to know everyone at court, but he knew a fair majority, most of whom were related to him in one way or another. But he didn’t know anyone called Susumu. Perhaps because the boy was a commoner. Or, Hiromasa thought, comprehension beginning to dawn, perhaps because the boy wasn’t human.

The lad was dressed in blue, in priest’s robes. His skin was very pale, his eyes shadowed but bright. He wore a commoner’s straw hat upon his head, and his hair was bound in a short ponytail. On his feet was a pair of simple wooden clogs. The air about him seemed at times indistinct, as if smudged with rain, and yet the girl, as she hugged him and exclaimed in delight at his presence, remained dry.

Hiromasa swallowed a cry and made to step forward.

Seimei held out a hand, the slap of his wet sleeve stopping Hiromasa in his tracks. “For almost two months, the Amefuri Kozo has been searching for her. Today he found where she was hidden, but the spells prevented him from reaching her. Now…”

“He—he is the Amefuri Kozo?” Hiromasa stared again at the boy who cradled the girl so affectionately and tenderly. “You mean, the rain hasn’t fallen for all this time because—because…”

“Because he was separated from the young lady,” Seimei said softly. “Yes.”

“But why?” Questions bombarded Hiromasa like hailstones. “Who is she? Why is she here? Why—”

“Miiko!” A woman swept into the apartments, her frown of annoyance turning to disgust as she splashed through the water still pooling on the floor. Spotting Hiromasa and Seimei, she made an aggrieved sound and plucked a fan from her Chinese jacket. The fan was pink, with a phoenix painted upon it in black and gold. Her robes were of similar quality, and her make-up was perfect, her hair-ornaments exquisite.

A shame, then, that her temper and hectoring tone quite spoilt the effect.

“Miiko!” The lady stalked furiously towards the girl and the Amefuri Kozo. “How many times must I tell you, daughter—that boy is nothing! He is beneath you. Not fit to breathe the same air, let alone touch you. Come away at once!”

“Mother, no!” The girl, Miiko, put herself between her irate parent and the silent, blue-clad boy. “Susumu is my friend. My _best_ friend. It was wrong of you to take me away from Grandma and Grandpa’s without letting Susumu know where I was going. I _asked_ you if I could say goodbye, but you wouldn’t let me, and now he’s come here to see me! He was worried about me, Mother.”

She turned to the Amefuri Kozo with a lovely smile. “You were, weren’t you, Susumu? You were worried, and I was worried too, because I missed you. But you’re here now.” Miiko reached for his hand again and squeezed it. “Everything’s all right now.”

The lady made a strangled sound. Her fingers tightened on the fan. 

Recognition stirred. “Lady Haruko,” Hiromasa cried. “How nice to see you! You triumphed in the colour combination contest in the Fourth Month. What was the winning combination again? Ah yes, burnt orange and lilac paired with deep green. Truly inspired!”

Lady Haruko swung towards him. “Lord Hiromasa. So it is you. And this must be your… companion.”

“Abe no Seimei,” Seimei said, without inclining his head.

Her gaze was sharp and unpleasant. “Of course. Everyone knows of Lord Seimei.”

Only now did Hiromasa remember that Lady Haruko was not a particularly nice person. She was very beautiful, and was popular because of that, but she’d divorced her first husband for lacking ambition, and her second husband, it was said, had died in mysterious circumstances. Although to be fair, he had been very elderly. Three times her age, in fact. Rumour had it that she’d only married him for his connections at court and because he was halfway to the grave.

Not that Hiromasa listened to gossip or gave any credence to what he heard.

He cleared his throat and smiled at her. “Yes indeed, it’s a pleasure to see you again, Lady Haruko. And this charming girl must be your daughter. She is a credit to you, my lady. You must be very proud.”

Lady Haruko gave him a look that suggested he’d lost his wits. “Sadly, Miiko takes after her father. She is wilful and stubborn, and unfortunately she has been indulged by her grandparents. They live in the countryside and have no delicacy of manners. Indeed, they let her run quite wild and encouraged her into unsuitable friendships.” She let her gaze crawl over the Amefuri Kozo. “What good could come from _that_ connection, I ask you! Look at him; with those clothes, he could only be a peasant. And he has no breeding. Just see how he gapes at us, Lord Hiromasa, staring so rudely! How uncouth!” She shuddered and tossed her long, trailing hair. “I had to take Miiko away. There was no other choice.”

“There is always a choice,” Seimei said.

“Did you say something, Lord Seimei?” The look in Lady Haruko’s eyes could have curdled milk. “There was no choice. Miiko, like her father, lacks ambition. Fortunately she has me to tutor her. And I will,” the glance she sent her daughter cracked like a whip, “just as soon as this… _creature_ ,” she flicked her sleeve at the Amefuri Kozo, “is removed from my sight.”

“Susumu is my _friend_!” Miiko cried. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me, so why can’t you let me spend time with him?” Quite deliberately, she turned her back on her mother and beckoned the Amefuri Kozo to join her in another part of the hall.

Lady Haruko’s lip curled. She angled her fan to hide her expression from her daughter and regarded Seimei and Hiromasa over the top of the pink-tipped paper. “You see why I had to act. It seems cruel, but it was for the best. Miiko’s life at court could only be blighted if it became known that she had established a friendship, however innocent, with such a person.”

“So you used magical means to ensure that Susumu couldn’t find your daughter,” Seimei said softly. “You do realise, my lady, that _mis_ use of magic—and this most certainly qualifies as such—carries a heavy price…”

The lady sniffed. “I was assured by your colleague Lord Hatano no Arimitsu that my request for protection spells was perfectly reasonable.”

“Lord Arimitsu can barely be trusted to put both shoes on in the morning,” Seimei’s temper was rising, his annoyance palpable, “but I will overlook his, and your, mistake on this occasion.”

“Mistake?” Lady Haruko reared back and swept Seimei with an arrogant glance. “How dare you! Miiko is my daughter, and I will act as I see fit on her behalf. I simply won’t allow the child to moulder away in the countryside when she can be forming connections here in the palace. It’s for her own good. At her age, she cannot be expected to know her own mind, so I must be the one to think and plan for her. She’ll be grateful when she’s older—when she’s grown into the potential of her looks and holds the Emperor’s affections, or when she’s mistress to the Crown Prince—yes, she’ll be grateful then, and she’ll turn to me for advice, and my influence at court will be sought after by everyone important, and—”

Seimei waved his hand, and the lady disappeared.

Hiromasa splashed to the doorway and saw her reappear outside on the muddy gravel amongst a crowd of women. Letting out a breath of relief, he turned back inside. “That was cruel, Seimei. She was only trying to protect her daughter from what she thought was an unwise attachment.”

“There are plenty who would say you had an unwise attachment to me.” Seimei fussed with the drape of his sleeves. “Would you like protection, too?”

“No, of course not. That’s different. Miss Miiko is very young…”

“She’s twelve. Of an age to marry,” Seimei said. “Her mother brought her to court to join the Empress’s service so she might make a glittering match that would benefit Lady Haruko. Not a thought for Miiko’s own wishes, and what she might prefer.”

“It’s the way of the world,” Hiromasa said quietly, feeling his way with his words, “and yet it offends you.”

Seimei made an irritated sound and threw up his head like an agitated horse. His gaze slid away and he was silent for a moment. Water dripped, draining away through the floorboards, and sunlight sparkled over the tiny streams.

“Yes, it offends me,” he said at last. “A girl who can befriend a rain-demon, a nature deity, even unwittingly… She should have a choice in her future.” He faced Hiromasa, his expression sombre. “Evil comes into the world because of imbalance, and the source of most imbalance is to be found within human relationships. Choice is a gift that should be respected. But I fear that is a lesson humankind will never learn.”

Hiromasa met Seimei’s steady gaze. “Perhaps not, but we can make a start.” He found a smile, increasing its warmth until he saw a flicker of response from Seimei. “Let’s ask Miiko what she wants, shall we?”

Without waiting for a reply, Hiromasa waded over to where Miiko and Susumu crouched together. They were holding hands, the detritus of the apartments washed up around them, and Miiko was talking rapidly, happy and excited as she imparted all her news.

The Amefuri Kozo gazed at her with a crooked smile and a slightly dazed look, his fingers knit tight with hers.

Hiromasa smiled inwardly. He could understand why the boy was smitten. Though no doubt Miiko would soon grow into a beautiful young woman, it was her kindness and consideration that had so captivated the Amefuri Kozo. Her face shone with an inner light, and Susumu was dazzled.

Together, Hiromasa thought fancifully, they created a rainbow.

Miiko broke off from an anecdote as Hiromasa approached. “I’m sorry for chattering on so much, my lord, but Susumu doesn’t speak, so I talk enough for the both of us.”

“He doesn’t speak?” Hiromasa glanced at the Amefuri Kozo.

“Not much, anyway.” Miiko smiled at her friend; Susumu smiled back.

“He speaks only when it’s important,” Seimei said, coming to stand at Hiromasa’s shoulder. “You’ve heard him, Hiromasa. He whispers when the rain falls gently, pitter-pat upon the leaves. When he wants your attention, his voice is the rain upon the roof-tiles. And when he is angry, when he shouts… he is the storm itself.”

Hiromasa stared at the silent boy, and bowed his head in understanding. Then he crouched, bringing himself down to their level, his boots squelching and the hems of his robes trailing wet and mucky. “Miss Miiko, if I may interrupt… Lord Seimei and I were wondering, what are your wishes? Do you want to stay at court, or would you prefer to return to your grandparents’ estate?”

Miiko took a moment to consider. “I like it here,” she said, “and Her Majesty says I am a comfort to her, and although the other ladies treat me like a doll or compare me to their own daughters, or say I must marry this boy or that gentleman, I know I am helping Mother by being here. My duties are not difficult, and I would help Her Majesty more if I could, but I do miss being able to kilt my skirts and run in the garden. I miss Grandma and Grandpa, and you know, I was a comfort to them, too, and I think…” her brow wrinkled, “I think I was of more use to my grandparents, because they have only a few servants, who are almost as old as them, whereas Her Majesty has lots of ladies and lots of servants.

“And then there’s the shrine,” Miiko continued, her eyes shining. “If I was at home with Grandma and Grandpa, I could tend the shrine our ancestors put up for the Amefuri Kozo. I know there are shrines to many deities here in the capital, and temples, too, but at home the shrine is our own, a special link to the god who saved my family, years and years ago, from a terrible drought.”

Seimei came over, his wet silks starting to dry. “Ah, so the connection between you and the Amefuri Kozo was fated.”

“I don’t know about that.” Miiko shrugged off the remark and beamed at the silent, blue-robed boy beside her. “But I met Susumu at the shrine, so it’ll always be a special place to me.”

“He told you his name,” Seimei said.

“Yes.” She smiled. “I was only five years old. I think I must have been crying—maybe I fell over and banged my knee, or I was lonely; I can’t remember. But I remember Susumu came out from behind the shrine, where he’d been hiding, and he brushed away my tears and told me I would never be sad again, because we would always be friends.”

The Amefuri Kozo moved closer protectively and stared up at Seimei as if in challenge.

“He is a very good friend to have,” Seimei murmured.

“I think so,” Miiko declared. “And so I think, Lord Hiromasa, Lord Seimei, that I would like it best if I could go home to the countryside. Susumu likes it better there, too.”

Seimei smiled. “It has a lot to recommend it.”

Hiromasa glanced at the silent boy. Storm clouds had gathered about the Amefuri Kozo while Miiko was deliberating, and his eyes were full of lightning—and rain. Tears of hope, Hiromasa realised now, as the thunderclouds rolled away and a tentative smile lifted the boy’s lips.

Rising to his feet, Hiromasa nodded. “Thank you, Miss Miiko. Lord Seimei and I will speak to Her Majesty the Empress about your decision.”

“I don’t mean to be ungrateful.” Miiko’s smooth brow creased with worry, her eyes full of genuine concern. “If Her Majesty needs me here, I’ll stay. But I would much rather go home.”

“Then so you shall, Miss Miiko,” Hiromasa said with a smile. “I will escort you there myself.”

*

The roads to Lake Biwa were busy with traffic from the capital as the good people belatedly made their way to their summer residences. Now the rains had come—falling from the sky, this time—the landscape resumed its usual lushness. Streams and rivers ran again, and the lakes were restored to their normal levels. Mists draped the early mornings and hazed the afternoons. Poems were written on the splendour of summer days and their fleeting verdancy, and there was a short-lived fashion at court for gentlemen and their ladies to patter barefoot across dewy grass.

Only the gardeners bemoaned the change in weather. More than half of the plum crop in the capital had been spoiled, first by the scorching heat and then by the sudden rain. Everyone agreed it was a shame, but, well, one couldn’t do anything about the weather.

Hiromasa sat astride his horse and bit into the succulent yellow flesh of a plum from Seimei’s garden. Perhaps he would suggest that his friend offer the fruit for sale in West Market; Seimei would make a fortune. Not that Seimei was particularly interested in accruing material wealth. Perhaps he would allow Hiromasa to sell the fruit instead. Through an intermediary, of course.

Finishing the plum in a couple of bites, Hiromasa spat the stone into his fingers and hurled it into the undergrowth at the side of the road. Perhaps next year they’d pass this way and find a plum tree growing. The thought pleased him.

“Well, Seimei.” Hiromasa beamed at his companion, who sat atop a black horse, the dazzling white of his hunting costume spread over the animal’s silken, muscled flesh. “Miss Miiko is back with her grandparents, and the Amefuri Kozo is satisfied as to her safety and happiness. I would say we’ve done a good thing.”

Seimei inclined his head. “I believe we have.”

“It was funny when you turned the ox-cart and its oxen back into a paper cut-out and a pair of ants.” Hiromasa smiled at the memory. “Miss Miiko’s grandfather scarce knew where to look! But the young lady kept her countenance, and explained that your actions were considered the norm in the capital, and that her journey had been very comfortable…”

“She’s a good girl,” Seimei said. “She will do well when she’s older. A shame the Bureau of Divination is so set against female practitioners. But I would not take her from the Amefuri Kozo. Those two have a bond that will only grow deeper.”

Hiromasa cocked his head and gave in to his curiosity. “Seimei. Is the Amefuri Kozo in love with her?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Seimei seemed to measure his words before he spoke again. “Inasmuch as a demon or spirit or god can love a human, yes, he does. When Lady Haruko took her from her grandparents’ estate without word, he believed Miiko was in danger. He searched for her across the province, but when he couldn’t find her, he did the only thing that lay within his power—he withheld the rain.

“He held it back so he could unleash his fury upon the person who had stolen Miiko away—and when he tracked her to the palace and found her locked away, he let loose his rainstorms.” Seimei smiled a little. “While Miiko is still a child, their affection will remain that of dear friends. As she grows older, no doubt she will feel drawn to him in a different way.”

“A girl and a rain-demon,” Hiromasa mused. “Can their love be possible?” 

“Anything is possible, if both parties want it enough.” Seimei flashed him an intimate look that made Hiromasa’s toes curl.

“Ah,” he said, mouth drying. “Yes. Quite. Exactly.”

Seimei chuckled and nudged his horse forward.

Hiromasa spurred his own mount to a trot. Together they rode through the lush landscape, the air warm with humidity and perfumed by dozens of flowers and leafy green plants. Moss dangled from trees, and colourful lichens dotted the rocks. A stream tumbled down the hillside, and the mountains hid their heads behind a veil of cloud.

Above, the sun shone with new vigour in a perfect blue sky. Then, as Hiromasa watched, a narrow grey cloud formed, swirling above them until a gentle rain began to fall. He stared, astonished, the rain warm against his face and soaking lightly into his robes. It looked beautiful, the sun shining through the rain; and then he remembered.

“Seimei, look! The Amefuri Kozo has brought a rain shower while the sun is shining. A fox wedding must be taking place somewhere!”

Turning his face up to the touch of the rain, Seimei smiled.


End file.
